We Are Young
by livingforfomas
Summary: A songfic to Fun's We Are Young. It's Draco's turn to be carried home for a change.
1. We Are Young

_We Are Young_

_Fun._

Give me a second. I need to get my story straight.

You see, my friends are in the bathroom getting higher than the Empire State and my lover- for all intents and purposes- is waiting for me just across the bar.

My seat has unfortunately been taken by some twit with sunglasses- asking about a scar, I'd wager.

I shouldn't be bothered. I gave it to him months ago- _before_ the alcohol induced mistake. I know he's trying to forget as he scratches the very edge of recovered flesh peaking from beneath a popped button of his dress shirt.

And between the drinks and subtle things- the holes in my apologies, well, I'm trying hard to take it back.

The bar's closing as I move cautiously towards our table. The man pestering Draco nods his goodbyes after realizing my presence and pats a slumping shoulder before glaring a cold welcome to me. Without a word, he's able to say, _watch yourself. _

And I'm quite capable of presenting the rather classic argument of politely minding one's own fucking business.

Draco seems to be falling in and out of himself- smiling in that goofy way I know only comes after an inordinate amount of drink.

"Come on, Malfoy," I usher, "I'll carry _you _home tonight."

Normally, it's precisely the opposite. He carries me back to our flat three to four times a week. If my fans could see their hero the way Draco was privy to, perhaps they'd think differently.

People tend to see what they want.

"_Oh, Potter_," Draco mumbles with a dramatic shake of his head- his white gold hair falling haphazardly as a curtain to his face. "Let's pretend we're in bed."

"Excuse me?"

"You call me 'Draco' in bed," he slurs happily. He lets out a pathetic excuse for a moan as an impression and I stand with my arms crossed over my chest- waiting for him to finish.

"You're drunk, Malfoy."

"We're young, Potter!" he enlightens me with a large swig of brown liquid. The cup makes a hollow cracking sound as it smashes against the wooden table- bottom's up. He hisses through the burn against his throat and water springs at the corners of his eyes. "I'll bet we can set the whole world on fire," he muses with a suggestive wink and grin.

I roll my eyes and take a firm grip of his forearm. "I'm sure we'd burn brighter than the sun."

Draco retracts his arm forcefully, nearly falling from his chair with the effort.

His face is flushed from the alcohol and mock anger at my audacity to lay a hand on him again. He breathes heavily and I watch as his rising and falling chest both hide and reveal his scar with every inhale. His eyes are daggers against mine- deep iron grey piercing through probably onyx pools in the dimness of the pub. He's a force of nature. A disaster of catastrophic measures.

I know that I'm not all he's got. How could I be? He's a decent enough time when he isn't pissed. And a hell of a time when he is. Draco ceased the whole snarky eleven-year-old routine after the war. He grew up without being young.

Something we have in common.

And after two bottles of firewhiskey accompanied by a few hours of alone time, we seemed to have everything in common. Lust especially. Loneliness.

Lust, loneliness, and inebriation lead inevitably to one possible outcome.

I never thought to pursue it further. Waking up to a face of completely distraught terror and a splitting migraine convinced me of the simple fact that we'd only find new ways to fall apart.

"Our friends are back!" he shouts and raises a new cup I didn't see ordered. Ron and Seamus maneuver staggeringly through the crowd. "Harry's gonna carry me home tonight! Aren't you, Harry?"

He drapes a heavy arm over my shoulder and breathes a thick, warm gust of air against my face. It reeks of liquor and I cringe without its contents to stifle my reaction. I stand, pulling him alongside me and ignore the accusatory chuckle erupting from Ron's chest. He has his theories about our relationship. We don't speak of it.

That elephant in the room.

Perhaps there isn't anything to speak of. At least from Draco's end. My own side has always been complicated when it came to the former Death Eater. He's a piece of work, he is.

But, then again, so am I. And he still puts up with my antics. He still lives with all of my faults. I live with his. He can't tolerate a mess and I'm the greatest mess there is.

"I'll see you two soon. Try not to wake Hermione on the way in, Ron. I told her I'd watch you tonight and that clearly didn't happen."

Ron shrugs indifferently and gestures to the tender for a final glass. I guess 'closing time' is just a phrase meant to create revenue.

"C'mon, Draco. Let's get you home."

"You smell lovely," he comments once we're safely outside of the bar and stumbling in the direction of our flat. His face is buried in my neck and I'm having the worst time trying to walk with four legs when two of those legs refuse to cooperate accordingly. He isn't heavy, much lighter than I am, but dead weight is dead weight. I may as well be dragging a corpse.

"I probably smell like piss and vomit." The unmistakable smell of the pub.

"Lovely," Draco repeats- removing himself from my person and marching ahead after sighting the steps to our almost habitable porch. "When did we get so many steps, Harry?"

He makes three on his own before giving in and slumping onto the forth. His head falls heavily between his knees and suddenly he jars himself upward with a wide grin and lidded eyes.

"Wanna sleep outside tonight?" he asks brightly. "The stars are so pretty. And we can talk and cuddle and look at the stars. I was named after that one!" Draco points randomly at the sky and traces a pattern I can't follow. His constellation isn't in sight at this hour. And at this point in the year, it's nearly impossible to find.

"Draco, it's cold. I want to go inside."

His face contorts to a frown and pout. "But, you'll sleep in your bed and I'll be all alone in my bed if we go inside." I'm used to his whine, but it always sharpens when he's drunk.

"You don't want to sleep with me," I remind him. "You didn't like it last time when you woke up in the morning. A mistake, remember?"

"You think I'm a mistake?" His eyes flutter and tears threaten to fall. I sigh heavily and sit beside him- taking his hand and squeezing his fingers. "I didn't think it was a mistake." He's whispering now and his head finds my shoulder easily.

With another sigh, I settle my head into his hair. Even with traces of the bar's scent, I can still smell the mint shampoo Draco buys from some store I can't pronounce. It sends a terrible tickling through my stomach and I shudder with treacherous thoughts.

"You're pissed, Malfoy. You're not thinking clearly. That's what got us into this mess."

He shakes his head defiantly. "No. I wanted to do that for a really long time. I like you a whole lot. You're nicer to me than everyone else. You don't mind me being a weird piece of furniture in your life."

I want him to mean it. Sometimes.

I've always had something more for Draco than most. He's different. He's hated me, and I can't say that for any other friend I've got. He's never regarded me as more than I am. He knows I'm fucked and hasn't done a damn thing about it because there's nothing to be done.

I want to feel all right wanting him. I want to know it's mutual. I want to eventually love him. I want to know that whatever this is won't kill him- as it has a tendency to do more often than not.

"I know," I say. Because that's all there is to say. He's right. "I like having you around."

And I know if we go further than this, he won't be around anymore.

I'm sure I look in desperate conflict with myself, and I silently thank the moon for being on my side tonight and having the decency to hide behind some clouds. Much more difficult to study me when there's only a touch of light in the darkness.

"It's not like I have a reason to run, Harry. I like having you around, too. Like my little guardian angel, you are."

Neither of us is an angel. Angels never seem to arrive.

Still, though, I swear I can hear their choir at times like these- when nearly everything seems in ordered chaos.

"We can share my bed, Draco. Just for tonight."

I'm conceding irresponsibly, and I'm well aware we'll wake up tomorrow in a state of total panic and horrid dread. But, the hope in his limitless storm of grey undoes any sort of sanity I may have salvaged over the years.

For tonight, we are young.

* * *

_Author's Note:_

This is starting to get rather ridiculous, but here's another one shot I promised myself I wouldn't write.

Considering writing another chapter to Some Nights, by Fun, in Draco's perspective…

That'll be full of M-rated antics. Hence the current rating.

A large _what-if _at the moment.

Fuckin' Drarry…

Thanks for reading.


	2. Some Nights

_Chapter Two_

_Some Nights_

* * *

_Some nights, I stay up cashing in my bad luck. _

_Some nights, I call it a draw. _

_Some nights, I wish that my lips could build a castle._

_Some nights, I wish they'd just fall off. _

And then there are nights like the last- nights I'd never give up and never regret.

Snoring quietly beside me, curled into my ribs and draped over my stomach is a martyr. _The _martyr of the Wizarding World.

Harry Potter.

A panic suddenly shoots from where the realization settled in my mind to the tips of my toes and stills my body akin to a corpse.

Like I've seen a ghost, I feel my face pale further. I'm terrified of this man waking and wondering what he's gotten himself into when he seemed so adamant in sleeping alone yesterday evening.

I shouldn't have laid the act on so thickly. I shouldn't have pressured him with tears and pouts when he wasn't certain of his past actions.

When _I _wasn't certain of what I stood for.

An undesirable bout of conflict settles in my chest and constricts my lungs. Breathing is becoming a labor- and true to fashion, Harry tightens his grasp.

Still a right prat even in sleep.

And somehow, the added pressure stops my bones from wondering just who I am.

Harry believes we were a mistake. I made the poor decision of exhibiting shock before happiness and scared him as quickly out of bed as we found ourselves in it.

I'd wanted him from the moment we'd met and long before that- perhaps not as a lover, but as a friend. Growing up, I could have used some friends for a change. I could have used a boy like Harry.

The perfect saint to heal the broken sinner.

It may have taken a while, but he came to my rescue eventually. Time and time again. Even at the height of it all. The cornerstone of my lonely exile. Harry offered to live with me. Not that I was interested in adding more to a life debt, but options were scarce and it wasn't as if the man were a total git.

In fact, we got on well. Quite well.

Well enough, in fact, that I began to imagine a different sort of domestic civility between myself and the Man Who Lived. One involving much more intimacy and far fewer layers of clothing. And with such an active imagination combined with an excessive amount of alcohol in the confines and privacy of our flat, well…

Needless to say those previous dreams became a hazy reality.

A short-lived reality.

Since then, I've grown accustomed to Harry's awkward fumbling and attempt at returning to normalcy. I've come to look forward to the blush, which painted his cheek after a few suggestive comments. Most of all, though, I've plotted for the moment we could repeat our mistake.

Unfortunately, being the noble gentleman he is whilst sober, he could never take advantage of someone not of sound mind and reasonable judgment. Instead, he generously offered to lie two feet away from my person as I stared blankly at the shadows marking the corners of Harry's room.

How he made his way to breathing wonderfully warm breaths into my chest, I'll never know.

One should never question luck when it's on your side.

And to show luck how appreciative I truly am for her good graces, I hold Harry just a bit tighter.

The muscles beneath his loose t-shirt flex as his body readjusts unconsciously and the hand over my stomach searches blindly for something to grab hold of. My hand, possibly on its own accord, laces through his and with a contented sigh, Harry settles.

Not wishing to disturb his sleep, I begin tracing cautious patterns over his back- unsure as to when or if I will ever have the opportunity again. He's something special, he is. Not for his name, of course.

I was never one to believe the hype. He was just a boy. A frightened, misplaced, used little boy in the midst of something far greater than either of us.

Now, he's a man. A man worthy of someone to care for him for a change. And perhaps I could be that man.

If he'd let me.

"Draco?" a voice murmurs groggily. His body tenses before removing its incredible warmth and darting upwards to take in his familiar surroundings.

Finally, his eyes fall back to me with a look of alarm probably mirroring my own.

"We didn't do anything, Potter," I assure him with more attitude than necessary before my arms cross over my chest. "You let me sleep here last night. That's all."

The relief in his released breath is disheartening. Somehow, I keep my disappointment secret and make to leave his bed.

"Do you want coffee?" I ask innocently enough.

He grunts some sort of affirmation and I let my feet carry me as quickly as they can to our kitchen. The smell of his favorite roast disturbs my brooding as I am reminded of Harry's usual scent- coffee and tangerine. The tangy bit coming from the shampoo I buy him. He'll never admit it, but he likes the better quality. And I like how smooth it makes his hair feel when I pretend to organize the mop atop of his head. There was never any hope for it, but Harry lets me try and for that I am grateful.

He's nervous as he takes two cups from the cupboard and pours the readied coffee. I accept the offer from his shaking hand and place it on the countertop.

I'm not actually a fan of the drink. Harry knows this, but he needs to occupy his mind. He's always bound to lose himself when he over thinks. And at the moment, his wheels are turning in a direction I dread- the same direction we've always found the other on.

"How're you feeling?" he asks, stepping around me and maintaining a safe distance beyond my arm's reach. "No hangover?"

I shrug indignantly and stuff my hands into the denims Harry wouldn't allow me or himself to remove the night before.

"Not in the slightest. How're _you_ feeling?"

In answer, he takes a large gulp of his liquid tar and grits his teeth at its bitterness. He's forgotten his sugar and I can't help but to smile. This seems to catch his attention if his noticeably flickering viridians are any indication.

"I'm confused."

"About?" I lead when the silence wears too long and my patience wears too thin.

Setting his own mug next to mine, he paces closer than he means to towards me. Not one for mistakes, he keeps his stance firm and only slightly rigid. "About some things you said last night."

Some nights, I really wish my lips would just fall off.

"You said you wanted to do…" he pauses and searches for the correct words we both already understand. "What we did for a long time. You really like me."

"I believe I said I liked you a whole lot," I recount before glancing away. I may not have been as pissed as I seemed, but I certainly wasn't sober. It takes some strong alcohol to grant a Slytherin Gryffindor's courage. "I believe you mentioned that you also appreciated having me around as well."

Harry's face heats and I congratulate myself for such a feat. He clears his throat and lifts his once wandering gaze back to mine. He's only an inch or two shorter than myself. It would be so easy to lean in just that hair's breath away and kiss him. Nothing passionate, just a brief touch to let him know I'm here and we're both here. Together.

My body must've felt inclined to act on that desire as Harry backs away jerkily, hitting the edge of the counter with a small _thump. _

"I should get a shower." I wouldn't keep him. Harry's never been known to run from anything, so perhaps I've been wishful thinking as of late. "Do you need anything else before I hop in?"

I shake my head and he leaves. I'm fearful I've imagined the slight slump in his step and only return my attention to the present when water sounds. The pitter-patter of droplets hitting the glass door of our shower is nowhere near the distraction I need. Harry's causing the constant pattern to falter. Naked. And lathered. And relaxing. And touching-

I did need something. Preferably as soon as possible.

I charge towards the bathroom only to anticlimactically press my ear against the door. The water still pierces my hearing and with a breath far deeper than necessary, I turn the knob and walk inside the now foggy room.

"Potter," I begin and clear my throat. I can clearly tell he's backed himself into a corner and nearly slipped in the process. "I wanted to talk." _This is it, boys. What are we waiting for?_

"C-could it possibly wait until I'm not _starkers_?" His voice chimes an octave higher than usual. "I'm sort-of in the middle of something."

"So, carry on. I'm not stopping you." A tic of time passes before he resumes whatever routine he's accustomed to. "What's got you so riled up this morning?"

"I'm not riled up," he forces defensively. "I forgot you slept over. Just surprised me."

I'm tempted to open the shower door to judge his expression, but I refrain just barely. "And that's it? If anything, shouldn't I be the frantic one? Waking up with you drooling on my chest in a bed that isn't mine?"

"Hey!" he shouts and cracks the fogged glass a fraction of space to glare daggers at me. "I don't drool." And how can I do anything other than smile and shake my head? He smiles briefly in return- abruptly allowing his brow to furrow in confusion. "Are you- erm- doing anything today?"

"Had something in mind?"

His hair droops into his eyes and he wipes the drenched strands back across his scalp before disappearing again. "Just curious. I was going to check on Ron and didn't know if you'd be alone all day."

"Wouldn't be the first day," I mumble loud enough to receive a laugh. "The piss, Potter?"

"Your brooding is funny."

"Yeah. It's hilarious trying twice as hard and being half as liked compared to the fucking _Boy Who Lived._" I don't mean for the last to come with a snarl, but the bitter resentment is already received. "Sorry, Harry."

"I shouldn't have poked fun, but if you could maybe excuse me? I'm just about finished. I'd like to dry off and head over."

Begrudgingly so, I have no other option but to comply. His mind's made up. And it will take a great amount of manipulation to alter it around mine.

* * *

Harry returns and the empty bottle of gin rests strategically in front of me as I angle myself half draped across the kitchen counter and dangling dangerously over the sink.

"You're not dead, are you?" he wonders conversationally. I lift my head groggily and smile with each and every tooth showing. "Good. I'd hate to have to dispose of another body."

"I know what we could do with _your_ body, _Harry_," I slur expertly, purposefully bumping the empty bottle into the sink and hearing its echo shake the metal surrounding it.

He shakes his head and runs his fingers through already distressed ebony locks. "You're pissed again."

"I know you are, but what am I?"

Sighing exasperatedly, Harry makes to wrap a careful arm about my waist and stands me up. We're walking towards the bedroom and I know I'm becoming a corpse against his side. I _accidentally_ trail fingers over his chest and arse, claiming I need the balance. He doesn't protest and sits me gently atop of my bed. I hold tightly to his forearm and pout in a way I know will make his limbs weak. He's never liked causing pain to anyone and I know just the right amount of guilt to keep him functioning.

I pull him downwards and take a firm grip of his face, searching for any sign of fight. His mouth opens as though he wants to deter me and I crush our lips to silence him. Momentarily, he's stunned. His eyes are wide and he's unresponsive. Against my obvious wishes to continue, he pushes deftly away and stumbles backwards almost colliding with the dingy dresser he already owned and I never had the nerve or heart to dispose of. His face is a deep red and his breathing comes in shallow gulps. I reach for him again like an infant towards its toy. Harry refuses as I realistically expect him to.

"It's for the best we get our distance," he swears. "I can't do this again to you. You're drunk."

You wouldn't believe the most amazing things that can come from some terrible lies.

I laugh hollowly, ten years of this. Ten fucking years of this and I'm not sure if anyone understands. Scared that he'll forget me again. Hoping, some nights, that this would all end. But, then, I always wake to his ghost.

And who the fuck wants to die alone all dried up in the desert sun?

"I'm not drunk, Potter." He rolls his eyes in disbelief, as I stand perfectly tall, striding towards him with a grace only sobriety allows. "Honestly, Harry. I know you won't touch me otherwise."

"Are you implying I took advantage of you? I wasn't in the right state-."

"The exact opposite!" I interrupt. "You hardly touch me unless you're helping me to bed after I've had too much! And you rarely let me touch you unless you're too far-gone to notice or I catch you off guard. I know you're attracted to me, Potter. I saw it in your eyes last night."

Harry blinks rapidly and looks on the brink of either screaming or fainting.

Possibly both as it happens on occasion.

"What are you saying? You weren't drunk last night? I saw you, Draco. You were pissed, three sheets to the wind, plastered, inebriated, drunk as a-."

"Potter!" I interrupt, covering his incessant chatter with the palm of my hand. "I don't need your thesaurus for my act last night. I'm well aware of how I appeared. I was there for the entirety of the performance. As I recall, you were present for most of it, too."

He speaks against my hand and I reluctantly allow him a moment longer to address his case. "If you're referring to the man at the bar, it's not like I invited him over. And if we're really discussing this, I believe my return sent him away."

"Like I give one iota of a fuck about that ghastly man," I laugh maddeningly. He still doesn't understand. "I care about _you_, Potter. I want _you_, Potter. Can I spell it out any clearer for you? Everyone else can see it! Even Ron for Merlin's sake! And you're already well aware of how incompetent I find him!"

"Ron's a good man, Malfoy. He-."

"Do shut up, will you? This isn't about Ron. This is about us. You and I. Quit evading the topic." I want to hit him hard enough that his teeth will bleed. He's insufferable.

His eyes dart back and forth from my left to my right, lip trembling and brow scrunching in concentration. "There is no us," he reminds me slowly and I nearly wince at the blow.

Oh, how I want there to be.

"Would it be so bad if there were?" I whisper desperately- not finding the strength to care about the weakness I'm exhibiting. "Would you hate me if I said it's what I wanted?"

"You don't want me," he mimics in volume- his voice only a breath in the sharp silence of the room. "How could you?"

"I won't feed your ego. You're above that. But, you're all I've got, Harry. All I can really count on."

He snorts unconvinced. "You don't owe me anything. Really, you're not responsible for taking care of me out of some debt if that's what this is about."

"I know I don't owe you anything!" I snarl, taking hold of his shoulders and crushing him against the nearest wall. I hear his teeth snap together tightly as he hisses at the contact. "I don't want you because you've saved me. If anything, it infuriates me that you come to my rescue and want nothing in return." My face is no more than an inch away from Harry's. His eyes darken considerably and I'm certain my own are following suit. A tongue falls from his lips to trace some sort of pattern before disappearing- and it's all I can do not to force myself on this man. "I _hate _you, Potter. For how you make me feel. It's… The more human you become, the more I feel for you. And the more mistakes I see you make, and the flaws I get to discover, well, it's almost as if I can believe…" I trail off, afraid of his reaction and terrified of the self-discovery I seem to be making.

"Believe what?"

I gulp- taking not only air, but my pride to the pits of my stomach. "That you can overlook my flaws and mistakes."

His eyebrow quirks questioningly before he holds out a hand for acceptance or denial. I chuckle to myself at the irony and grasp as he's certain I will. Wordlessly, he leads us outside. The sky has darkened significantly and stars beam overhead.

My constellation is nowhere to be found.

"What do you see when you look at the stars, Draco?"

I always loathe him during his bouts of thoughtfulness. They're so few and far between that I've never had the opportunity to fish them out. So, I humor his antics- still very aware of his hand in mine.

I shrug and barely contain an eye roll. Though, the irritated sigh has a mind of its own. "When I see stars, that's all they are."

Harry releases my hand and walks the steps towards the street. It's quiet for a Saturday evening and I watch closely as he looks above himself at something I can't make out.

"That's what I used to see," he muses- either for his own sake or mine. "And then you came along." He rotates to flash a small smile in my direction. It's guarded, but genuine- somehow shy. "You- with a family built of constellations. And every time I look at this blasted sky, I have to think of you. It's a reflexive thing. I can be anywhere in the world for work or with Ron and Hermione and if the sky's clear, I think of you. Some nights, you're all I think about."

I don't dare breathe during the moment I'm certain has the potential to ruin my life. Instead, I wait for the other shoe to drop- some Muggle expression I'm still working to understand.

"The other night," he laughs, refocusing on the sky, "You wouldn't believe the dream I had about you and me."

His smile fades and even in the darkness, I can see his eyes dim.

"I called you up and we both agreed that maybe it's for the best we get our distance."

Harry's focus shifts to the streetlamp and cautiously peeks from beneath thick eyelashes at my more than likely listlessly stiff state. Something crackles in the air between us- quick enough to miss completely if one were say, on Mars. Barely in any sort of mind to argue through myself, I launch from our steps and into his chest, knocking his unsuspecting body from an upright position to the filthy ground. A gust of breath escapes his lips with the impact and I can't help but laugh and ruffle a hand through his hair to assess for any bruising or bumps…

Most definitely not because of how lovely the surprisingly soft strands fall between my fingers…

Most definitely not.

His mouth turns upwards in a gentle smile whilst his eyes glimmer in subdued happiness.

"Perhaps it's best you didn't listen," Harry teases, touching the tip of my nose before tucking a stray hair behind my ear. He lingers longer than necessary- a clear invitation if I've ever witnessed one.

So slowly, granting him more than enough time to back away if desired, I lean in. Our noses brush only a moment before our lips.

Some nights, I always win.

_I always win_.

* * *

_Author's Note:_

Well, goodness. I don't like being rated M for language, but here I am. Rating M for language…

Unless the mood strikes to write a third chapter with another Fun. song.

Only time'll tell, I s'pose.

Perhaps I'll call this the Fun. Series.

I've never had a series before…

Oh, the possibilities! You're wonderful for reading.

All my love.


End file.
